


Death, Be Not Proud

by aeoleus



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: AND I LOVED IT, F/M, Gen, I saw this thing about "what if Alex saw Death everywhere, It's a little surreal tho BC I write well that way, It's death personified my dude
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-09-12 14:26:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9076423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aeoleus/pseuds/aeoleus
Summary: "I imagine Death so much, it feels more like a memory." Ever since his mother died, Alexander has been seeing a peculiar woman lurking everywhere he goes.





	

“Death, be not proud…”

The book was heavy in Alexander’s lap. A heavy heat hung in the room. It was already hard enough to breath, let alone recite poetry.

“Though some have called thee mighty and dreadful,”

 _Keep going_ , His mother mouthed. She was lying next to him. Fever had stained her skin a splotchy red. She had sweat through the sheets again.

“For thou art not so.”

His mother smiled, eyes closed. She reached out and squeezed Alexander’s hand weakly.

* * *

 

It was late. It was very late. The nurse had gone home and left Alexander and Rachel to make it through the night. Alexander’s eyes snapped open- someone had put a weight on his chest.

Too hot. His mother was making too much heat, lying next to him. She was so still. Alexander pushed away from her and turned over.

And then he saw Her.

She was staring at him, dressed in a white gown that reached the ground. She was stately, in a terrifyingly demure way. Eyes a piercing blue, skin a brown shade of pale. She said nothing, She did nothing, but Alexander stared at Her open mouthed.

 

_“For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow.”_

The next morning, when they lifted his mother’s body from their bed, She was nowhere to be found.

* * *

 

From then on, Alexander saw Her everywhere. He saw Her so often that she felt more like a memory, as stable and ethereal as his mother's fleeting face. 

 

He saw Her standing on the bow of the ship bringing him to a new life as flames licked the deck and he was hauling water from the side.

 

She stood in the crowd of doctors when he was sick at school, just a little out of reach.

_“Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me…”_

She was standing on the roof across the street, bare arms and barefooted in the snow as Alexander dodged cannon fire.

She sat at the front of the ward when John lay in a hospital bed with bullet in his shoulder. Mrs Van Rensselaer had offered to mend Alexander’s jacket as he sat with John one dark December night.  She came back a quarter hour later with a quizzical look on her face. The back of his collar was a singed hole. He felt the back of neck and found dried blood.,

She was there at Yorktown. She was sitting in a tree as Alexander screamed hoarsely and tried to revive his men.

 

“ _And soonest our best men with thee do go, Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery.”_

He passed Her in the street after the war was over as a letter from Henry Laurens burned a hole in his pocket. Her face was distinct, even as the rest of the town was blurred through his tears. 

 

“ _Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,”_

She was standing amongst the kitchen slaves as the pastor droned about fig trees and rest over the President’s body. Mrs. Washington sobbed into a handkerchief and Alexander squeezed Eliza’s hand.

 

_“And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell.”_

She was an assistant as he lay in bed next to Eliza, struggling to breathe in a way that too closely parelleled those terrifying days when he was a child. Everytime Eliza closed her eyes, Alexander would fix _his_ eyes on her chest, waiting for it to rise and fall and signal her continued living. He would feverishly fall asleep listening to her steady heartbeat.

 

“ _One short sleep past, we wake eternally”_

Her eyes were the first thing he saw when he awoke after fainting at his eldest’s funeral. The July sun beat heavily on him, and those ice blue eyes shocked him like electricity, reminding him vividly that Philip was dead, and it was his fault.

He closed his eyes again.

 

_  
“And death shall be no more;”_

She stood just past Burr as Alexander raised his gun towards the rising sun. Even over his haggard breathing after the wretched bullet lodged itself in his ribcage, he could hear Burr’s frantic shouts. But they soon faded out.

 

He awoke to Eliza’s face, puffy and bloodshot. She whispered sweet nonsense as she lay next to him on that bed, combing his hair out of his face. It was harder to see Her, then- She sometimes walked in behind the doctor, sometimes She sat next to Angelica and wept.

 

Several hours after Weehawken, She stood. Alexander looked to his side. Eliza’s head was in his shoulder. Her tears were staining his shirt. She stood, and She walked straight to Alexander. Her eyes were no longer an icy-blue, but soft and warm, like his mother’s. Her skin was no longer pale, but full of life. For the first time in the thirty-seven years Alexander had seen Her, She smiled.

 

She reached out Her hand to Alexander. He looked back at his wife one more time.

“My love, take your time. I’ll see you on the other side,” He whispered.

He grasped Her hand.

  
_“Death, thou shalt die.”_

**Author's Note:**

> The poem is a modified version of "Death, Be Not Proud" by John Donne


End file.
